The Price of Love
by GiraffeGirl
Summary: Lara made the ultimate sacrifice for Patrick. A blast from the past threatens to take him away from her, after everything she gave up. No one said it would be easy. She never knew it would be this hard.
1. Chapter 1

There were five letters in the post that morning. A brown envelope addressed to us both, detailing what we had left to pay on the mortgage. A bank statement for each of us. A begging letter from the NSPCC. And the one marked private and confidential for his eyes only. It was postmarked London. I didn't ask what it was, as he left the house, shoving it into his briefcase. Maybe I should have done.

All day long, the letter haunted me. What could it be? He didn't know anyone in London, he never had. Maybe it was yet another bank account he'd forgotten about which would pay off the mortgage once and for all. That would be nice. But even he couldn't be that forgetful. A job offer? Not in London again. Not after the last time. My mind wouldn't leave the subject alone, as it worked overtime trying to think what it could be.

Finally, he appeared on the department. He hadn't been down here for nearly two years. In some ways, it was strange to see him again, in these familiar surroundings. His hair had the beginnings of some grey around the sides. He was the same but different. Maybe it was me that was different. The last time he'd been on this ward, I'd been Lara Stone. I'd been another person.

"What's wrong?" I asked, noticing the slump in his shoulders and the tight line of his mouth. "Has something happened?"

He shook his head. Brushing me aside. "I need to speak to Charlie. Is he around?"

I nodded and pointed towards his office. "Patrick." My voice faltered. Was this connected with the letter? Why did he need to speak to Charlie? Why not me?

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. There was a flicker of irritation in his eyes, imperceptible to anyone but me. I'd done the wrong thing. He knew what I wanted to ask. I was doing what we'd said we'd never do. Prying into his business.

"Nothing," I ended weakly. "I've got work to do." I turned away from him, hoping that he hadn't heard the catch in my throat. Of course he had; it was hard to miss. It wasn't like he hadn't heard it before.

Dillon had noticed the interchange. As I headed towards the nurses' station, carrying a patients file, I could feel him following me.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, as he stood behind me.

I nodded. "Yeah, fine." Keeping my back to him, shutting him out.

"Only I couldn't help over-hearing…"

"It's fine, Dillon." I spoke over sharply. My shoulders lost their tension as I turned to face him. "It's all fine."

He hesitated, studying my face carefully, before nodding. "Cool. I better get on with some work." He walked away. My best friend, the one who'd helped me through the worst time of my life. The one I couldn't talk to anymore.

I'd said I was. I must have been, it wasn't an option for me not to be fine. I was always fine. I'd always been fine. Who was to know if I didn't tell them? It was all fine. I told myself that repeatedly, as I went about my work. And yet every inch of my body was on edge, waiting for Patrick to come back. If he ever would. Somehow, I knew when he walked back onto the ward, even though I was on the other side of a curtain. Something in the air changed, and I knew he was there.

"If you can excuse me for a minute," I apologised to the patient I was dealing with. I was wasting time there anyway; it was a broken arm, nothing more complicated than that. It shouldn't have taken twenty minutes of examining the arm repeatedly, looking at X-rays, suggesting further tests be done. I should have moved on.

Everyone was gathering, at Charlie's request. All the nurses, all the doctors. Even the paramedics had been found. Bex had wandered in from the front desk. It made me wonder who was on the front desk now. Maybe no one. The whole department had stopped for a moment to listen to the speech Charlie was now making.

"Sorry to disturb you all," he began. "I've got an announcement to make. I'm not sure how many of you this will concern, my memory's not what it was… Anyway, it's not good news, I'm afraid. Holly Miles, I'm sure some of you remember her… well…" He was struggling. I looked round. The name had rung a bell with some people. Josh. Fin. Some people, not many. "Well… the thing is…" Charlie never struggled for words. Never. He was the invincible man. "The thing is, she died a few weeks ago." It had cost him a lot to say that. He looked physically exhausted.

"What?" Josh spoke, frowning. "Holly? But… how?"

"That's all I know at the moment," Charlie continued. All he knew. How did he know at all? My eyes met Patrick's and then I knew. The letter. There was something to do with her in that letter. But why? Who was she? I'd never even heard her spoken about before.

I followed Patrick back out of the department as everyone began dispersing again. He didn't know I was behind him. He was about to step into the lift.

"Patrick." He turned slowly as I spoke, holding the lift for me. I slipped in next to him, knowing I shouldn't really be leaving the ward. "The letter?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it was from Holly's solicitors. They want me to go and sort some stuff out."

"You?" Why? Who was Holly to Patrick? Just some ex-colleague who had left before I'd arrived. Three years ago or more. Barely anyone remembered her here. Why was Patrick being asked to deal with her stuff now she was dead?

He didn't reply to my question, just nodded.

"Who was she?" I asked.

"Just a colleague," Patrick shrugged as the lift pinged and stopped. He got out. I followed. "She was the SHO before you arrived." He never stopped walking. I wanted to make him stop. Something was wrong, something felt strange. It felt like the world was starting to shift around me, like everything else was moving and I was just staying the same. I felt like something was happening with every second that ticked past that would change things for ever. I'd had that feeling before; I hated it. I needed to hold on to something, anything, but he wouldn't stand still long enough for me to get my bearings. Maybe he was doing it deliberately.

"Was she good?" Why couldn't I drop it? I didn't want to talk about it, I knew there was something wrong. But my mind wouldn't leave it alone. I had a name to go with the letter now: Holly Miles. It didn't make it feel any better.

Patrick looked at me for the first time, a cursory glance. Quizzical, almost surprised. I wondered what he had expected me to ask. He nodded eventually, and he sighed almost imperceptibly. "She was very good."

We'd reached his office. Part of me was still so proud of that room; his name on the front "Mr Patrick Spiller. Consultant". Half-instinctively, I ran my fingers over the cool engraved metal plate as I went in and let the door swing shut behind me.

Patrick shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed heavily with his back to me. He was looking out over the department. His department. I wished I could go over and put my arms around him, be a part of his thoughts. But it had been a long time since I'd felt that close to him.

Finally, I awkwardly managed to say, "So why are you going to see her solicitors?"

There seemed to be no response. There wasn't even the slightest twitch in his shoulders. I thought he hadn't heard and I was about to speak again. Then he replied.

"I'm the major beneficiary in her will," he said bluntly. The world shifted ninety-degrees, as I tried to digest that information. The major beneficiary in her will. That was usually family or partners… But he was married to me.

"What about her family?" I asked carelessly.

"I don't know," Patrick admitted, sounding confused. "I guess… I don't know, maybe her parents are dead or something…"

I managed a tiny laugh. "Well, funny of her to pick you, even so. An old colleague she hadn't spoken to in years."

He finally turned to look at me. And I knew. His eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears and his face was drawn. She wasn't just some colleague. She'd been more than that.


	2. Chapter 2

Holly Miles. We'd been together three years and he'd never even mentioned her name. The names sounded so right together. The L sounds rolled satisfyingly around one's mouth. She sounded like a newsreader or something, not an SHO. She'd never been mentioned to me by anyone. Not Patrick. Not Max. No one. Was she that insignificant? Was I that insignificant?

I couldn't leave the thought alone. She had made my husband the major beneficiary of her will. Surely that was wrong? Didn't I have a right to feel… I don't know… jealous? Annoyed? Upset? I couldn't pin point how I felt exactly. Just like I couldn't work out who I was most affected by. Her strange action, or Patrick's reaction and involvement. Or someone else, who had failed to tell me what I felt I had a right to know.

But I said nothing. I'd grown so good at that over the past year or so. I used to have so much energy and enthusiasm. I used to be able to hold my ground and I was as stubborn as Patrick. But things take their toll on you. Secrets can crack you. Where once I was a major turning force in the world, manipulating things for my own benefit, I was now making it my aim each day just to hold on to what I already had, even as things spun out of my control, all the while thinking, repeating, the same words that tortured me day after day: _This wasn't what it was supposed to be like_. But there are no promises in this life. I should have known that by now.

* * *

He packed a small suitcase to go and see the solicitors in London. A few shirts and a pair of trousers. A comb. A few ties. I watched passively from the bed, silence pervading the room. As he threw a tie in, I reached in to fold it up.

"Lara, leave it," he said wearily, taking it out of my hands. "It doesn't matter."

Of course it didn't. Saving a tie from being wrinkled wouldn't change anything that had happened. It wouldn't make the years of lies we'd had together change into truths, or bring Holly back from the dead. It wouldn't stop her from ever have existing. It would just send Patrick in to see her solicitors looking marginally smarter.

"How long will you be gone?" I asked, running my finger over the bedside table, fixing my eyes on the trail it made in the dust.

"Only overnight," Patrick replied, as he zipped the suitcase shut. "I'm only staying over because I think it's safer," he added. "London's a long way to drive there and back in one day, Lara."

"Oh, I know." I nodded. I knew the reasons behind his staying in a hotel tomorrow night. It was safer, it meant he could sort out anything more complicated the following day, he could find out what was happening, and where her parents were and where she was buried and a million and one other things that I couldn't bring myself to deny him. I'd never denied him anything. How pathetic did that make me?

"I'll be fine," he said, and he reached out and touched the side of my face. It was the first physical contact we'd had since the letter had arrived on the mat thirteen hours and seventeen minutes ago. Then he moved his hand away and went into the bathroom to collect his toothbrush.

I went downstairs. We'd bought this house in a hurry two years ago, when we'd got engaged. It was far beyond our reasonable price range, but somehow we'd blagged it at the bank and had got a big enough mortgage. I wished we hadn't now. It had five bedrooms and two reception rooms. It was too big for two busy doctors to rattle around in. Patrick had never said it, but I knew he thought he would make a wonderful family home. He was right; it would. But we weren't that family and never would be.

I wiped the work surfaces in the kitchen down. They weren't unclean; we hadn't had dinner at home that night, but had instead both eaten at work, separately. I was looking for something to do, rather than sit and count down the hours until he returnedfrom London again. Like the last time.

I picked up the letter from where he'd left it on the kitchen table. It was a lovely table, hand-made and very farmhousey. Our house was a three-storey Victorian townhouse. The two didn't fit together.

I'd already read the letter twice. The paper was flimsy though, as though it had been read far more times. Patrick, I'd warrant. How long had he spent today re-reading it, disbelieving it, willing it to be untrue, reluctantly accepting it? It was short and to the point. Her name was in bold: Miss Holly Miles. Miss. I knew I shouldn't. But I did anyway. Mrs Holly Spiller. It worked well. Too well. The L sounds again.

The telephone rang. I dropped the letter and picked it up. The line was slightly crackly.

"Hello?"

A delay. "Lara! It's me!" My brother, Stuart, in Australia. He always called at this time on a Tuesday night. I'd forgotten. "How are you?"

"Good, yeah," I found myself saying. Put on the voice, tell them what they want to hear. I'd been perfecting that for months. There was no point in admitting the truth. "You?"

"Great!" Everything Stuart said always ended in an exclamation mark. He was enthusiastic like that. I remembered when I'd found that irritating. Now I only felt envious of it. "What have you been doing?"

"Work mainly," I replied. "You?" I felt such a worthless part of this conversation. A spare bit. Not contributing.

"This and that!" There was a pause. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a bit down."

I toyed with telling him the truth. But what truth was there? An old friend of Patrick's had died; he was having to go to London to deal with her will. No story there. "No, I'm just a bit tired," I lied. "Need a good night's sleep. I'll be fine in the morning."

"Okay. If you're sure," Stuart sounded doubtful. "I'll talk to you later then! Bye!"

I replaced the receiver. It was getting harder to control it. He was breaking through, realizing that all wasn't right with my world. It was just a matter of time now.


	3. Chapter 3

Work was my comfort, my salvation. Working was what I knew best and understood. For the past few years, it was the only thing that had made sense in my world, the one thing that I could look at and feel I was someone. My work defined me. Maybe that was wrong. But I had little else left to hang onto.

I threw myself into my work the day Patrick was away. I barely stopped for coffee or even a chat with Dillon. There was no point; there was nothing left to chat about. If I admitted that this letter had affected me in some way, it was as good as admitting that it had done something to our marriage. After all, what good marriage could be shaken by an innocent cream letter which detailed the death of an old friend? What could Holly do now? She was dead and gone, without my ever even realizing she had existed. Maybe it was that that had shaken me most. Not that she was dead but that she'd _lived_. Until a few weeks ago, she'd been living just like I was now. Neither of us knew about the other. Yet we'd both known Patrick. It was strange.

"Hey Stoneface." Simon had never stopped calling me that, even though he'd known me far longer as a married woman. It unnerved me, but I could never explain why. He'd think I was crazy.

"Patient in cubicle three claims you were going to check up on her bloods about thirty minutes ago?" He raised his eyebrows. "Any ideas?"

Cubicle three. "Yeah, I was." He was loving this. Any excuse to get someone else in trouble. "I'm working on it."

"Thirty minutes is a hell of a long time, you could have got them back much quicker." He reached for the phone. "I'll do it, shall I?"

"It's fine," I said in clipped tones. "I can do it." I took the phone out of his hand and rattled off the required information on autopilot. My job was the one thing I could do right; I couldn't start stuffing it up now.

* * *

"Lara, have you heard from Patrick yet?" Charlie asked as the shift drew to a close. It was the first time anyone had mentioned his name all day.

"Um, no." I shook my head. _Ask,_ I willed Charlie. I needed someone to bring the subject up, I wanted to talk about it. My mind wouldn't let it alone; even when I was seemingly full immersed in some tricky medical procedure, there was part of me that was just saying her name over and over. _Holly. Holly Miles. Holly Spiller…_

"Oh." Charlie was the master of silence. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Right. So you don't know… I mean… how…?"

"Patrick's calling me later." _Just say her name._

Charlie nodded. "Holly was a lovely girl, you know. It was a real shock when Patrick told me yesterday, it just…" He shook his head.

I nodded. "How old was she?"

"Not old, about your age, I'd guess," Charlie explained. "You were her replacement here." In how many ways?

I wanted to ask so many questions. Why had no one ever spoken of her? Why was she the ghost of the ward? But even though they were on the tip of my tongue, I bit them back. I didn't want the truth anyway. Truth was an alien concept to me.

* * *

There were no photos of her anywhere. In a fit of madness, I'd unpacked the last three boxes which we'd shoved in one of the spare rooms. Somehow, in the last few years, we'd never got round to it, always finding an excuse. They were all Patrick's. The first was full of comics; I'd never realized what a nerd he really was, with his Spiderman this and Superman that. I dumped them on the floor, releasing their musty smell. The box was all but ruined from its constant upheaval when we'd needed something from behind it.

The second box was full of loose photos. Typical of a man, to leave the photos just floating around. They were mainly landscape shots, from when Patrick had developed a passion for photography. He'd told me about that once, and laughingly ignored my desire to see them.

"They're awful," he insisted. "I only took it up because I thought it would interest women."

They weren't too bad actually. Some of the sunsets were stunning, God only knew where he'd been to see things like that. Some were a bit blurry, but then again, Patrick had never been hugely steady with his hands. That was why he'd decided not to go into surgery. I could frame some of these, brighten the house up. I dumped the box on the floor, deciding to continue sorting them out later.

The third box contained photo albums. It surprised me; Patrick was so unorganized. I pulled one out and opened the first page.

And there she was. There were no names, no indication that it was her but I knew it instinctively. I tried to look at the photo objectively. She was pretty, maybe even very pretty. In an English rose sort of way. Brown hair, brown eyes, cute nose, big smile. She was looking straight down the camera lens, laughing at something. She looked younger than I'd expected; surely this wasn't a fully qualified doctor? She looked more like a student…

The phone rang and I dropped the album with a clatter. As though he could tell I was snooping, it must be Patrick. I picked my way across the floor hurriedly, and shut the door, before running for the phone.

"I was about to hang up," he greeted him. "What were you doing?"

"Hoovering," I lied. "I dropped a glass and I was just cleaning it up. Almost didn't hear the phone." I was already mentally deciding which glass to break. That's how well constructed my lies were.

"Oh right."

"So, how are you?"

There was a long pause. "I'm… alright. Not too bad, I guess." Another long pause. I sat down on the sofa, curling my legs under me. "The solicitor was very nice, explained everything to me."

"What happened?"

"To Holly?"

"Yeah."

Long pause. "Cancer." Patrick sounded upset again and I wanted nothing more than to hold him. "She had a long time to get ready for it, by all accounts. Sorted all her will and everything out." So leaving it to him hadn't been a mistake, something done on a whim all those years ago. She'd actively left it all to him. Did that make it worse?

"So what's she left you then?"

"This and that. She didn't have much in the end. Just a house that was mortgaged to the hilt…" (like us) "…and some other debts. Her savings will just about cover them, but not much more."

"Is that it?" It didn't sound like much for a doctor to have at the end. But maybe she'd been out of work for a long time, maybe she was going private. Perhaps she'd hoped Patrick would bail her out in the end. Nice of her to remember him.

"Pretty much." Yet another long pause. "Look, Lara, it's been a long day. I've got some more stuff to sort out tomorrow and I'll be back about fiveish probably. That cool?"

"Sure." I hesitated. "You… you will be careful won't you?"

A snort of laughter. "Of course. You're such a worrier. I'll be back tomorrow, safe and sound. Sleep well. Night."

Dial tone. I put the phone down. So it was over then. She hadn't even got so much as a pet dog that we would have to spend the next seven years looking after, even though Patrick had always said that we were too busy for dogs. No house we could sell and make some money to pay our own mortgage off with. Not even some stupid shares in some crap company that would go bust next week. Nothing of Holly Miles would be coming back with Patrick tomorrow. She was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Mum had warned me against marrying Patrick initially.

"It's too fast, sweetheart," she'd said, the concern practically leaping down the phone at me. "You barely know him. You've only been in England a few months."

"I know him well enough! Mum, I know what I'm doing. He's the One." My mum was a big believer in "The One", and was always consoling me in my heart-broken moments with "he's not the One, honey, don't worry."

Now she seemed less sure of herself. "Lara, I just don't want you to do anything hasty. You've only been dating the guy a few weeks, he sounds a bit… a bit irrational." He was that alright.

"He's wonderful, Mum, if you'd only meet him…" I pleaded. I'd gone through too much to have my parents put a downer on things. "We're both owed some leave, we could come and visit."

Eventually Mum had come around to it. She was utterly besotted with Patrick, and was practically knitting booties by the time we had to return home. I didn't want to shatter her illusions.

It wasn't just my mum. Other people thought we were moving very fast. People at work and friends from university all said it was a whirlwind romance. I didn't care. I didn't want to live without Patrick in my life for another single second if I could help it. I'd tried living without him, it just didn't work. But I could never have explained that to anyone.

* * *

Patrick's car rolled into the drive. I'd been waiting for it all afternoon, barely moving from the spot I was sitting on. I knew the sound of his engine so well; no one else had a car like Patrick. I was already standing as it came to a halt and I didn't hang around. I didn't want him knowing I'd been waiting for him. I took myself into the kitchen, where I'd set my laptop up hours ago to start writing a talk I was giving the following week for the hospital trust. So far I had "As SHO on the ED department…" A great start. 

The key turned in the lock, and I forced myself not to run out to him. Instead, I stayed put. "Hi ya."

"Hey." His voice sounded strange, and strained. I couldn't quite place what was wrong. He was putting bags down in the hallway. No doubt I'd have to put them away later. I heard the television go on in the living room and then his footsteps down the hallway.

I turned in my chair to face him. "You're early."

"The traffic wasn't too bad for once." His face was grey. He looked awful.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." My mind jumped to conclusions. Maybe he had, maybe he had some second sight that meant that he could see Holly even though she was dead. I'd begun believing in even more outrageous things in the last few years.

He met my eyes and looked… guilty? He swallowed. "Lara, I don't want you to go mad. I just… I need to tell you something. It's not easy."

I frowned. "What? Tell me."

He took a deep breath. "I… I didn't tell you everything last night. I didn't mention… Oh, come with me." He beckoned me towards him, and like a fool, I followed him. Back down the hall and to the living room door. Where a small brown haired girl was sitting on our sofa, clutching a stuffed dog and watching a kids' show.

"Her name's Daisy. She's three."

I looked from her to Patrick and I knew it deep down before I even asked. "Is she…?"

Patrick nodded gravely. "She's mine."


	5. Chapter 5

Patrick rejoined me in the kitchen after giving Daisy a drink and some sandwiches. I hadn't been introduced to her yet. I already felt sidelined.

"I'm not sure I understand," I said finally, after we'd sat in silence for nearly ten minutes, each holding cooling cups of coffee. My head was working so fast that I couldn't tell what it wastrying to sayanymore. I tried to slow my thoughts down and focus on one of them. It all came down to one question. "How?"

Patrick didn't look up from his coffee as he spoke. "Me and Holly we… we knew each other from uni, we dated on and off. Mainly off actually. I didn't see her for years until I came to Holby. I'd virtually forgotten her, and I think she wished she'd forgotten me. But I guess there must have been something there because…"

"You shagged her."

Patrick winced. "Can you keep your voice down? Daisy's only next door. Yes, we… we started seeing each other again, but she didn't hang around long. She'd had an awful time here, I guess she just wanted to get out. It all happened before I even met you, Lara. And I didn't hear from her much after that."

Much? I let it go. There were bigger things to deal with.

"So, she's left you Daisy?"

"She's not an ornament, Lara, she hasn't been_ left_ to me. I'm her legal guardian now. Her father."

"What about her grandparents?"

"Dead. Died in a car crash just after she was born apparently."

"Does she know you're her father?"

Patrick shook his head. "I've told her I'm an old friend of Holly's who's going to look after her from now on. I'm not sure she even understands that, to be honest. I think she just heard the word "Mummy" and wanted to come with me." He sighed. "Poor thing." He looked up at me. "I'm sorry, Lara, I know this is hard, but…"

I didn't want this conversation now. We'd avoided it for months, now was no time to start it. "It's fine. When do I meet Daisy then?"

Patrick smiled, and it was a new smile. He looked… proud?

"Now."

* * *

She wouldn't sleep. I couldn't say I blamed her. The poor thing had been dragged halfway across the country with only some clothes and some toys (I could see where Holly had been spending all her money). Her mother had disappeared on her without any explanation. She was staying with a strange man and woman. I'd probably cry.

Patrick came back to our bedroom after settling her again.

"She might sleep now," he said, with great hope in his voice. It was half past two. "I think she'd worn herself out now."

Just then we heard, "Patwick?"

Patrick sighed and stood up. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say." He went back to the room we'd told her was hers now and I heard him sit down on the creaky bed in there and talking to her soothingly. I couldn't take much more.

I slipped out of bed and went downstairs. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet and I shivered. We definitely needed to buy some rugs for this place, it was getting beyond a joke. I picked up the phone and held it in my hand. Almost without thinking, I dialed my mum's number.

"Hello?"

"Mum, it's me."

"Lara! How are you? Unusual time to be ringing, isn't it the middle of the night for you?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "I… I couldn't sleep."

"Is anything wrong?"

Where should I start? My husband's ex- had died and had dumped their illegitimate love child on us. Said child would now not sleep. I had a twelve hour shift tomorrow, where I was certain at least one person would enquire after Patrick and the will, and then what would I say? Even if Daisy had been sleeping like a log, I doubt I'd have slept anyway; my head was too busy with thoughts.

But what good would telling Mum do? There was nothing she could do, except sympathise and she probably wouldn't even do that. Her first thought would be for Daisy, in the way only mothers can explain. I had no maternal instincts. I had no need for them.

"No, nothing really. I'm just a bit stressed out at work." My laptop was looking at me accusingly. That speech really needed finishing. "You know, too many patients, too little time, not being paid enough." I gave an impression of a laugh.

"Well, don't work yourself too hard, sweetheart," Mum said. "You and Patrick are still coming over at the end of May aren't you? Only if you can't make it, I'll have to ring Cassie and tell her."

The end of May. My little sister Cassie's wedding, the event of the century by all accounts. She'd been more than accommodating to us.

"If you can't make May just say," she'd insisted, but I knew she had her heart set on a May wedding. May was the month she'd met her fiancé Mark in, and the month he'd proposed last year, and to marry in May would round off her perfect little life ideally. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if her first child was born in May, and if she had a daughter she would be called May. That was the sort of girl Cassie was; everything worked for her.

We were due to fly out a week before the wedding, to help Mum cope with Cassie's tantrums and to get over our jet lag before the wedding itself. I'd all but forgotten about it, and I was sure Patrick had. Now I wasn't even sure if we could go. It was February already, and now we had Daisy to deal with.

"May? Yeah, of course."

"Good." There was a long pause. "Look, sweetie, I'll have to go, I'm supposed to be meeting Cassie for a dress fitting now. But we'll talk later, yeah? You should go back to bed and get some rest. Give our love to Patrick. Bye."

The phone went dead. I closed my eyes slowly. I hadn't had a chance to tell Mum really anyway. Putting the phone down, I stood up and padded back upstairs. There was silence. Maybe Daisy had finally dropped off. I pushed open our bedroom door carefully, wincing as it caught on the carpet. And there they were, curled around each other. Patrick and Daisy, both fast asleep, the little girl's face stained with tears. I looked closely. So was his.


End file.
